


A Secret You and Me House

by the_widow_twankey



Series: Role Reversal [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Crossdressing, Drabble, F/M, Gender Role Reversal, Role Reversal, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_widow_twankey/pseuds/the_widow_twankey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tree house, a free house,<br/>A secret you and me house,<br/>A high up in the leafy branches<br/>Cozy as can be house.<br/>-Shel Silverstein</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Secret You and Me House

**Author's Note:**

> Our first non-smutty story in this series.

In this tree house. The one with the missing ladder rung that his dad had promised to fix when he was seven, the one with only one window, the one with the nightingale wind chime. In this tree house they could be themselves.

He could feel the forbidden feeling of a skirt against his skin. He could fix the smudge made by a tube of lipstick gone off course.

It is here that she will find him. Only in this place could she call him beautiful with that crooked smile.

Here, weeks later, she will kiss him with steeled nerves ready for rejection. He will return that kiss there, too.

He could sit in her lap in this tree, give light breathy moans and whimpers when she used just the right amount of tongue. Feel a hand make its way tentatively up his dress.

He could cry in her arms. He will return the favor, should she need it. Only here.

On prom night she will hold his waist and dance to music heard only by them, she will whisper “I love you's”, “perfect's” and “mine's” within these four walls in a not so tall tree.

They will shuffle through possible future alma maters on that ten year old Micky Mouse play mat surrounded by popcorn and dreams.

They will argue for the first time only to, later, press soft apologies into tender skin and even more tender hearts, fingers linked over that knot in the wooden floor that's always looked vaguely like a duck.

A bottle of amber will sit between them as they retreat into that sanctuary amongst the sparse leaves after too much holiday and too much family to lick their wounds. They will fall asleep there, wrapped in each other and morning dew.

They could look at bridal magazines borrowed from a mother eager that her girl has shown interest, none the wiser about who they're truly for. Who would really marvel over the satins, invitations, and cakes. Who wanted to be behind the veil.

Because some hopeful “forever's” were thrown in as well.

Those walls will turn to plaster, that play mat into a coffee table bought on sale, surrounded by raucous friends watching as their hosts dance in dresses of the same length and think nothing of it.

Obviously the world is not full of their friends but it's a start.

In that tree house. The one with the missing ladder rung that will never be fixed but has long since been ignored for they just learned to skip it, the one with only one window, the one without the nightingale wind chime for it hangs on the balcony of their modest apartment. In that tree house they were themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Hit me up on tumblr: benedicia.tumblr.com


End file.
